


Inconveniently Young

by OldTsuki



Series: Inconveniently [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gladys leaves town, Jughead has a crush, Middle School, Pining, Twilight Drive-In, angst with a side of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 12:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14894927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldTsuki/pseuds/OldTsuki
Summary: His mom was a survivor, and she always had been. Jughead knew that implicitly. She’d be fine with Jellybean, wherever she went. But his dad was a dependent, and he needed someone to make sure that he didn’t fall off the face of the earth in his endless quest for self-destruction. Even at almost thirteen, Jughead knew these unpleasant truths.Or: what happens the night Gladys leaves home for good, and how Jughead feels about Betty's crush on Archie.The first in a series of one-shots written for the Southside Showcase. The prompt for this was "Twilight Drive-In".





	Inconveniently Young

**Author's Note:**

> In the Archie comics, Jughead is depicted as a teenager and Jellybean as a toddler, so that's how I imagined this happening. She's maybe a year old or so?

 

It was the summer of seventh grade. They’d survived the middlemost year of middle school--arguably the most awkward, odorous, bizarre year of their short lives thus far. The girls had begun to fill in noticeably, and some were also sprouting upwards as they grew into their adult bodies. To their great shame, many of the boys were still lagging behind, though some boasted that they’d gained a questionable number of inches during the school year. Archie’s mom had marked his height on the doorframe of the second floor bathroom, dutifully recording the date next to each creeping line. She’d even measured Jughead once or twice, for comparison--in pencil, of course. Archie swore that he was cheating when he refused to take off his hat, sour that Jughead had gained an inch or two over his own progress. He wanted to play football in high school and he _needed_ those inches, much more than his uninterested best friend.

That summer, life had been spiraling in a steady downward plunge ever since the last day of school. His dad had gotten into another scuffle at the bar, which had resulted in several broken fingers, which in turn resulted in his being unable to work with Mr. Andrews at their construction site.

Jughead’s mother was beside herself. This wasn’t the first time that his dad had put himself out of work, forcing her to pick up extra waitressing shifts in Greendale. He couldn’t remember a time when she left the house without caking ivory concealer over the perpetually purple pits below her eyes, though he was certain that she couldn’t have been born that way. By comparison, Jellybean’s cherubic face always looked like the picture of well-rested health. Jughead liked to imagine that his mom had looked that way once, too, for her sake.

With mom out of the house, that left their dad with babysitting duty. Jughead didn’t need a babysitter, of course. He was going to be thirteen in the fall. More often than not, though, that meant that it fell to him to change diapers and spoon baby food into Jellybean’s gummy mouth, since his dad was usually so far gone that he couldn’t get up off the couch. That had been going on since June--or at least, it had been until last night.

His mom came home from her late shift, unlocking the door of the trailer when the clock was reading single digits for the hour. She couldn’t have known that she was walking into a perfect storm.

Jughead was walking back and forth through the kitchen and the living room, bouncing an irate Jellybean on his hip and trying to calm her down. Their dad had opened his third bottle of the evening, carelessly leaving the plastic screw cap within the baby’s reach. She’d cut her gum on the sharp spikes of the perforated edge, and it was the blood pouring out of her mouth that alerted Jughead to her imminent danger. He’d pried the cap out of the back of her mouth with two fingers, thinking vaguely that his hands probably weren’t clean, but knowing that he didn’t have time to waste before she started choking. Jellybean had been even more disturbed by this violation, and had yet to calm down as she wailed at them both about it.

His mom surveyed the scene with her narrowed, tired eyes, and looked over at his dad. He was cussing, shrugging his shoulders and protesting that it was the sort of thing that could have happened to anyone. His speech might have been more credible if he hadn’t been slurring his words as he delivered it.

She clutched her keys a little tighter and looked at both children.

“Get Jellybean to bed, Jughead,” she said softly. It was the quiet tone she reserved for times when she was too angry to be rational, and Jughead knew that. He was also smart enough to realize that whatever she had to say to his dad was something that she didn’t want the two of them to hear. From experience, he knew that he probably didn’t want to hear it, either. Without protest, he took his sister into the room they shared and continued calming her there.

At least Jellybean’s screeching drowned out most of the argument happening in the common area of the trailer. Sometimes a few words pierced the wailing, and Jughead tried his best not to register what they were. A door slammed suddenly, finally shocking Jellybean out of her tantrum. Both children blinked at each other, bubbled in the deafening silence that pooled around them. It made the sound of the footsteps in the hallway echo like the stomps of a giant, and the soft thud of the fist against the door of his parents’ bedroom sound like someone was trying to come through the wall.

“Gladys, don’t be such a bitch,” his father slurred loudly.

Jughead’s mind rapidly visualized his mother shutting herself into their bedroom, leaving his father stupidly in the kitchen to ponder the choices that had led them to this point. He didn’t want to imagine what was happening outside his room, of course, but it was difficult to ignore when the walls were so thin you could hear someone breathing from the other side of the house.

The silence resumed. His mother didn’t deign to dignify his father’s name calling with any sort of response. Jughead wound up the dial on Jellybean’s mobile and found her favorite stuffed animal, pressing it into her arms. Exhausted from her crying, she snuggled against it and quickly laid down. When he relaxed on his own bed--wondering distantly when the last time was that he’d bothered to cover the mattress with sheets--he closed his eyes and willed himself not to hear the sounds of his mother quietly crying on the other side of his wall.

The clock was still reading single digits when the door of his bedroom creaked open. It had always creaked, and though his dad swore regularly that he would oil the hinges, he never seemed to get around to it. Jughead’s eyes snapped open immediately at the sound. Childhood night terrors swarmed vaguely at the back of his mind, and he had a fleeting thought that someone had come to murder both him and his baby sister. Heart pounding, he squinted through the darkness at the figure in the door.

She entered silently, walking heel to toe across the floor so that she didn’t make a sound. Approaching Jellybean’s crib, she leaned down and picked up the favorite stuffed animal. That was when Jughead noticed the bag hanging from the crook of her elbow.

“Mom?” he asked, his voice sounding childishly high in the night’s silence.

She turned and looked at him. He swore that he could see those lines of exhaustion, even in the soft glow of yellow light pouring through the window from Sunnyside’s perpetually shining street lights. Mother and son regarded each other for a long, silent moment. Jughead had seen her pack a bag in the night before, of course. Many times. She’d always break down over something or other, empty the bag, and creep quietly back into her own bed with fresh tears on her cheeks. That was her private hell, and she’d done it enough that he’d accepted it as routine. But as he stared at her in the dark, he saw something shift in the set of her jaw. That was all he needed to notice to realize that tonight was going to be different.

“Are you coming?” she asked, her voice soft.

Jughead’s response was a stare. She’d never really left, so he’d never really considered leaving. Riverdale was the only life he’d ever known, like it or not. And if all of them left together, who was going to make sure that his dad had something to eat, and make sure he remembered to pay the rent? Who would tease Archie about the marks his mother carved into the wall?

His mom was a survivor, and she always had been. Jughead knew that implicitly. She’d be fine with Jellybean, wherever she went. But his dad was a dependent, and he needed someone to make sure that he didn’t fall off the face of the earth in his endless quest for self-destruction. Even at almost thirteen, Jughead knew these unpleasant truths. He stared back at her, silent, and something shifted in his own jaw as the tension of the moment pressed his teeth together like a vice.

“We’ll be at grandma’s. Call me every day,” his mother whispered. She reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand. Looking into her eyes, Jughead could almost see the ghost of a beautiful young woman beneath the ravages of her exhaustion. He hoped that she’d be able to find the rest she so desperately needed.

“We’ll be fine, mom. I’ll take care of dad,” he promised, trying to turn his lips up in a reassuring smile.

Her eyes filled with tears. “Of course you will,” she replied. “You’re too good. You have always been better than either of us. I love you, Jughead.”

And she’d scooped the sleeping Jellybean into her arms and gone. He’d looked at the open bedroom door for a long time. Part of him wanted to run after her, yelling, _Who’s going to take care of me? Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me?_ But Jughead was no baby. He’d learned long ago how to take care of himself. He’d told his mother that they would be fine, and he meant it.

In his mind, her departure was directly caused by his dad’s behavior. Jughead knew that he’d personally done nothing wrong, but he was determined to stay and fix the things that had finally broken down the foundations of their family into irreparable rubble. If it took him the rest of the summer to convince his dad to sober up, then Jughead simply had a tough summer ahead.

That morning, his father had woken up to discover that his mom had finally carried through with her threats. He’d trashed the trailer in a rage. As he flung framed photos and baby toys and shoes and unwashed dishes around, Jughead ducked out of the door and sat on the steps.

Some of the Serpents were walking along the road, and they eyed Jughead with an impassive disdain that made his fists curl onto themselves. In his eyes, they were the force that had led his dad astray in the first place. They were the reason that he kept going to the bar every night, and until he could convince his dad to stop drinking, they would keep offering endless temptation. To Jughead, at that moment, they were the enemy.

They passed, and he willed himself to relax his hands. It was there that Fred Andrews found him, maybe an hour after his father’s rampage had begun. He pulled over in his truck and parked, like he’d done so many times before. Jughead looked up at him with a blank expression, meeting his grim gaze in silent agreement regarding the tantrum unfolding in his home. Mr. Andrews gestured to the car.

“Archie and I were going to catch the late show at the Twilight tonight, Jug. Why don’t you get some of your things and come along? You can spend the night.”

Glancing over at the door of the trailer as his dad shouted something in his incoherent rage, Jughead sighed. “Would it be okay if I just borrowed some clothes from Archie, Mr. Andrews?”

The adult looked over at the door and sighed. “Yes, that’s a good idea, Jughead,” he said. He gestured to the truck. “I’ll just let your dad know.”

He didn’t need to say that he was going to talk to Jughead’s dad about so much more than a sleepover. Jughead didn’t need to explain that his mom had finally done it. Their conspicuously missing car said as much. He wondered if his dad would drop him off at school on the motorcycle in the fall, and what they would do when it started to snow that winter.

When Mr. Andrews emerged minutes later, at least the sounds of destruction had slowed from within the trailer. Jughead watched the trees of Riverdale pass as he was driven across town--away from the south side, away from his father, and away from the Serpents. He pressed his temple against the window and thought about how good the cold glass felt against his skin.

The Andrews fed him breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He and Archie hung out in Archie’s room all day, reading comic books and eating candy they stole from the kitchen. It seemed so inconsequential in the face of Jughead’s experiences the night before, like he shouldn’t be allowed to do something so meaninglessly fun when he should have been taking care of his family and cleaning up at home. He struggled against those feelings all day. Finally, Mr. Andrews called them both down to get ready for the movie. As they packed cushions into the bed of the truck, Archie and Jughead were surprised to see Betty Cooper crossing the driveway. She smiled over at them, glancing nervously toward the house as Mr. Andrews carried out a stack of folded plaid.

“Hi, Betty,” he said cheerfully, and both boys nervously echoed the sentiment. Jughead took the blankets from Mr. Andrew’s arms and tossed them after the pillows. Betty was often an unwelcome interloper on his time with Archie, but he didn’t overtly dislike her. Quite the opposite, actually. He thought that she was one of the most intelligent people he’d ever met, and within the past few months he’d been noticing the way that the end of her ponytail curled just as it fell against the back of her neck. Betty and Archie had been practically married since elementary school, though, so Jughead resolutely refused to allow himself to entertain any fantasies involving his best friend’s girl. It would break every law in the book to make any sort of move on Betty, and his friendship with Archie was the only thing keeping him afloat in the mire of his own life right now.

She smiled brightly in greeting to Mr. Andrews. “What are you guys doing tonight?”

Archie leaned against the side of the truck, glancing over at Jughead. His entire posture exuded the sentiment _I am cool,_ though Jughead privately thought that his effort was wasted. Betty was already so heart-eyed as she stared at him that it was almost sickening.

“We’re going to the Twilight,” Jughead answered. He would never be too cool to talk to Betty. “Want to come with us?”

He wasn’t particularly looking forward to an entire evening where Betty would be focused entirely on making herself available for Archie to kiss--a prospect that Jughead still found moderately gross if their roles were reversed, but simultaneously so thrilling that he couldn’t imagine kissing Betty Cooper himself. But she was never going to think of him the way he thought of her, and that was something he was just coming to understand. He’d seen her doodling “Elizabeth Andrews” in her notebook on the last day of school. Young as he was, Jughead was already a burgeoning realist--people who came from families like his didn’t get to kiss people with families like hers.

Archie glared at him when he invited Betty, but Jughead pretended not to notice. He was secretly annoyed with the way that his best friend was set on refusing to acknowledge Betty’s obvious crush. Privately, Jughead thought that the intensity of Betty’s emotions were overwhelming to Archie. Acting uninterested was his way of coping with the new rules that seemed to heap endlessly upon their friendships with members of the opposite gender. It felt like you just had to look at a girl the wrong way these days, and suddenly you were married forever.

“My mom and dad are taking Polly swimsuit shopping, and I want to get as far away from that showdown as I can,” Betty confessed, looking relieved. “I don’t even care what’s playing. Let me get a few dollars from my mom for my ticket and I’ll be right back.”

She turned to leave, and Archie called out, “It’s scary!” The impact would have been much more intimidating if his voice hadn’t cracked in the middle of the sentence, jumping up an octave and a half. He immediately flushed a deeper red than his freckles, turning away from Betty to hide his embarrassment.

Jughead smiled easily at Betty and said, “Not too scary. It’s PG-13 though.”

She nodded, her smile unfaltering. “I like scary,” she admitted, then turned away to secure her permission for the evening.

Archie turned to Jughead. “Man, I was hoping it was just going to be us.”

Jughead shrugged. “Betty’s practically one of us, right? And aren’t you guys like best friends?”

He looked ready to protest when his dad thumped the side of the truck impatiently. “All the best spots will be gone,” Mr. Andrews reminded them.

As they piled into the cab of the truck, Archie retorted fiercely, “ _You’re_ my best friend, Jughead. Betty’s a girl. I don’t think I can be best friends with a girl.”

Mr. Andrews glanced over, only half-hearing the end of their conversation. He said, “Archie, we can be friends with anyone,” in that parental tone that Jughead thought he’d maybe heard his own parents use less times than it would take him to count on one hand. Was his dad even capable of speaking in that register?

As Betty’s blonde ponytail bounced back across the driveway, he sighed. Archie really didn’t realize how good he had it. Not in any way. She tugged open the passenger door of the truck and pulled herself up, struggling onto the seat next to Jughead. He made sure that he was as close to Archie as possible, keeping at least an inch of space between himself and his best friend’s neighbor the entire jostling ride. It wasn’t a Herculean feat, but Jughead was fairly proud of himself when they made it to the Twilight without their knees or arms bumping together.

Mr. Andrews backed into the space so that they could pile into the truck bed with the cushions and blankets. He adjusted the speaker on the edge of the car, overseeing the three kids as they climbed over the gate and made themselves comfortable. “I’ll get some snacks for us,” he offered, smiling. “Nobody move until I get back.”

Archie put himself against one corner of the truck, glancing anxiously at Jughead as if to wordlessly signal that he needed to offer himself up as a human barrier to protect the redhead from Betty. Feeling like causing some mischief, Jughead pretended not to notice and lingered over the stack of blankets too long as he made his selection. Betty seized the opportunity to place herself alarmingly close to Archie’s personal bubble.

“I’m going to the bathroom before the show starts,” Archie announced, his voice strained. Did Jughead imagine the flicker of hurt that danced across Betty’s eyes? Maybe Archie was being too obvious with how much he was trying to avoid her.

“I’m good, I’ll tell your dad where you went,” Jughead offered.

That left him alone in the truck with Betty. Feeling the awkward silence stretch too long between them, Jughead picked at the edge of his shoe and wished that he could think of something to talk about other than school. No one wanted to talk about school on summer vacation.

Betty beat him to it, innocently asking, “How’s your little sister, Jughead?”

Her words had an immediate and alarming effect on him. His vision stretched, like he was looking down the end of a long, dark tunnel. The terror of remembering that she was gone, that his mother was gone, that they were both gone indefinitely and perhaps never coming back, swelled up in his throat like a chokehold and prevented him from responding. He picked at his shoe with more intensity, creating a little hole in the canvas above the rubber. That wasn’t good either--with mom gone, he’d have to ask his dad for replacements in the fall. Kicking himself doubly for being an idiot, he glanced over and felt a pang of mild surprise as he noticed Betty’s confused expression. Well, of course she was confused. Anyone would ask a question like that, it wasn’t as if she knew what was going on at home with his family. He’d made sure of it.

“She’s fine,” he muttered, looking quickly away, knowing that it had taken too long to answer. “How about your big sister?” Maybe he could shift the topic away from himself.

Betty bit her lower lip and looked away too. “She’s fine,” she echoed, her eyes searching over the sea of cars. Jughead thought that she probably couldn’t wait for Archie to get back and escape his awkward company.

Instead, Mr. Andrews arrived with the snacks. He handed Jughead a huge bag of popcorn and two cans of soda from under his arm. With his free hand, he withdrew two more cans from under his other arm and then climbed up into the truck bed beside them. To Betty’s likely dismay, he sat down in the space that Archie had occupied earlier. It looked like Archie would get his wish--Jughead would be his human shield, after all.

“It’s almost dark enough to start,” Mr. Andrews commented, glancing over toward the bathrooms. “Archie had better hurry, or he’ll miss it.”

Neither Jughead nor Betty replied, both reaching for the popcorn at the same time. Having food in one’s mouth was an unspoken method of avoiding unpleasant small talk, and Jughead was the absolute master of eating his way out of awkward conversation. If his family had trained him to acquire one skill in his life, that was it.

As he closed his fingers around a few kernels of buttery fluff, he felt something unusually warm and soft brush against the back of his hand. Jughead looked over in alarm, but quickly realized it was Betty. Her eyes were trained on the distant screen, her expression soft as she watched the commercials that played before the trailers began. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed that their hands accidentally touched. Jughead let himself stare a moment longer, his eyes imprinting the curve of the wispy hair that curled over her ear in defiance of her ponytail into his long-term, permanent memory. If he’d been a braver person, he might have reached over and smoothed it for her. But Betty was--and as far as he was concerned, would be forever--Archie’s girl, and Jughead was no fool. He wasn’t going to jeopardize their friendship.

**Author's Note:**

> So I drafted chapters for most of the prompts this week, and I'm excited to share them. My apologies for the angst in this one! The rest are post-season 2, mostly, with plenty of Bughead. Let me know what you think! :)


End file.
